What Katie Did To Survive
by Clare
Summary: Katie Almond, a young woman from the North of England, is interviewed about her experiences as a teenager during the Zombie War.


**What Katie Did To Survive**

 **North York Moors, United Kingdom**

 **[This remote part of the British Isles has a timeless quality to it, appearing untouched by humanity's struggle against the living dead. But, though such encounters have inevitably declined in recent years, the fear that a zombie might be lurking among the heather is never far from the minds of those who live locally. For that reason, no-one dares to venture onto the moors unarmed. Katie Almond's weapon of choice is a scythe; the sharp point is more than capable of piercing a zombie's skull and the blade can be used for decapitation.**

 **Though Katie has made this rugged landscape her home, her story begins in a suburb of Bradford.]**

I had just turned fourteen when the crisis reached us. My brother, Nathan, was twelve and my sister, Megan, was five. We all knew something was happening, something that wasn't good. To start with, Mum and Dad were buying more tinned food than usual and they were storing it all in their bedroom, "just in case".

School was closed, of course. It had been ever since the crisis started, but you could hardly call it a holiday, not for the older kids anyway. Maybe it was for Megan and the other little ones, but those of secondary school age like Nathan and me were old enough to understand the seriousness of the situation. There hadn't been any outbreaks near us yet, but, with the way things were going, we all knew it was a question of when - not if, when - the undead decided to show their faces. Not that Zed Heads actually decide to do anything. Their brains have been wired for one thing only: to kill and eat every living creature they come across. And, talking of their brains, that's their only weakness. You can attack their bodies as much as you like, but, unless you have some means of destroying their brains, you can't kill them. And, if you can't kill them and you can't get out of their way, they'll kill you. If you're lucky, they'll devour you completely. If not . . .

 **[Katie adopts the stiff-limbed, shambling pose of the undead. It wouldn't fool a real zombie, of course, but to me it looks so convincing that, but for the fact that I am interviewing her about her experiences, I might think she was a zombie or at least a quisling.]**

Anyway, there was no escaping the fact that things were getting more and more dangerous every day. The government had already relocated to Scotland, most of the Royal Family had moved to Ireland or the Isle of Man and, as for our TV channels, only the BBC was still on the air and they'd cleared their schedules completely. Now, all we got was a more or less constant stream of news and public information shorts, though they did occasionally show something else, something uplifting like one of their classic sitcoms, to boost the nation's morale. Like most of my generation, I used to do nearly all my TV watching online, but, with most of the sites I used for that purpose down and the rest no longer being updated, that wasn't an option any more. It took some getting used to, but I soon had more important things to worry about than catching up with my favourite shows.

It was a Sunday afternoon at the end of August. There had been a large outbreak in Leeds and Dad had spent all morning nailing wooden boards over the downstairs windows. Mum was outside, watching Megan playing on her bike. It was Megan's first proper bike and, even with everything that was going on, she insisted on riding it every day, though she was never allowed to do so without Mum or Dad watching her. Suddenly, Mum came rushing into the house, carrying Megan, both of them looking scared out of their wits. I asked what was wrong, even though I had an uneasy feeling I knew what the answer would be.

"They're outside!" Megan sobbed.

I hurried out of the house to see for myself. They were staggering down the middle of the road, five or six of them. They were making this horrible moaning sound and their skin was a mottled grey colour. I'd never seen Zed Heads in real life before. On TV, yes, but this was the first time I'd seen them in the flesh. They didn't look as bad as some of those I encountered later - they must have only recently reanimated - but I was frightened of them because I knew they were no longer human beings. They were monsters whose only thought was to kill. But I didn't have long to watch them before Mum dragged me inside and told me, Nathan and Megan to go upstairs and stay there.

 **And did you go?**

Yes. Her tone was one we knew better than to disobey. We sat together on my bed, listening as Mum and Dad nailed the outside doors shut. Then came the sound of furniture being moved around. Mum and Dad were piling it all against the doors, though I wondered how long these makeshift barricades would hold if a large horde of zombies showed up. Anyway, Mum shouted upstairs, telling me to fill the bath and the wash basin ready for when the water got cut off, while she and Dad fetched the cutlery and crockery from the kitchen. I didn't need to question how we were going to cook our food; we had this picnic stove we'd bought at a camping supplies store, along with a portable saucepan, frying pan and kettle.

Once the cutlery and crockery had been brought up, Dad made one last trip downstairs and came back carrying an axe. I don't know where he got it from, but he used it to destroy the stairs. "If any zombies break in, they won't be able to get to us," he explained.

I won't pretend it was easy, being trapped upstairs 24/7. Living at close quarters for long periods can be hard at the best of times and having a horde of zombies outside just makes things worse. There's something about the way they moan that gets to you. And, because Zed Heads never rest, the noise never lets up; it goes on day and night. We had to keep stuffing our ears with cotton wool to try and muffle the moaning. Even then, the sound drove us half-mad and that's without taking the other noises into account.

 **Other noises?**

Car alarms going off. Dogs barking. Guns being fired. Glass breaking - you'd hear a window being smashed and wonder if it was looters or zombies and, whichever it was, if you would be next. But I think the worst sound of all was people screaming as the Zed Heads caught them. You knew they were going to end up either being completely devoured or swelling the ranks of the undead, but there was nothing you could do to save them. I remember one time . . . **[Katie hesitates for several seconds and I have to prompt her to continue.]** I heard a voice I thought I recognised. So, even though I knew I wasn't supposed to, I risked looking out the window. I saw . . .

 **Go on.**

Radha, my friend from school. She looked like she'd been running for some time; three Zed Heads were after her. She was screaming, pleading for someone to help her. I wondered if I should tell Dad, but, at that very moment, she stopped to catch her breath and that's when it happened. They surrounded her and . . . **[Katie shudders, reliving the memory.]** I could hardly sleep that night for thinking about it. Even now, I can hear Radha screaming as they attacked her - and I did nothing to help her.

 **[Katie struggles to regain her composure. I wonder if it would be better to end the interview, but she eventually continues her story.]**

We spent about two months confined to the upper storey of our house - Mum, Dad, Nathan, Megan and me - before our food started to run out. One day, I heard Mum and Dad talking. Mum was saying they would have to go out and look for more supplies soon. Dad said we still had enough food for several weeks if we were careful and there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.

"And what about the children?!" Mum demanded. She and Dad were always yelling at each other lately, something they didn't do before the crisis. "Do you want them to starve?! Because that's what will happen if we stay here! I've got some jewellery we might be able to trade for a few tins of soup or a loaf of bread. But, if we wait much longer, there might not be any tins of soup or loaves of bread left!" In the end, Dad reluctantly agreed that they would go and look for supplies the next day and that I would be in charge until they got back. They would arm themselves - Dad would take the axe he used to destroy the stairs and Mum would take the hammer - and they would climb out through Nathan's bedroom window which was located directly over the garage. We had one of those houses with a built-in garage, in case you were wondering.

When they left, I jokingly asked them to see if McDonald's was open. That was the last thing I ever said to them because they never came back. To this day, I don't know what happened to them, but I try not to think about the possibility that they joined the ranks of the undead. Still, in a situation like that, it's hard not to imagine the worst. Anyway, Nathan, Megan and I had to manage on our own now. Megan kept asking when Mum and Dad were coming back; I used to tell her "soon" because I couldn't give her a more definite answer. But Nathan and I both knew it was looking increasingly unlikely that we would see our parents again and even Megan eventually stopped asking for them.

We stayed in the house for another month or so, but, even with just the three of us, we were running out of supplies. Eventually, we were down to our last tin of baked beans, which we had to eat cold because we'd run out of gas for the picnic stove. When they were gone, I knew we would have to leave. We dressed as warmly as we could, packed spare clothes and anything else we might need in backpacks and, like our parents before us, climbed out of Nathan's bedroom window and onto the garage roof. From there, we climbed down to the ground via the wheelie bins, which were still shoved against the side of the garage. Of course, getting down to the ground was just the beginning; we now had to find a way to survive in a world which had gone to shit, if you'll pardon the expression.

Winter had set in. I think it was nearly Christmas, but I've no way of knowing for sure because there were no decorations in people's houses. But I do know it was cold, colder than I'd ever known it before. It was snowing, but it wasn't the pure white snow I remember from before the crisis. This snow was grey from all the pollution in the atmosphere and it didn't fill you with wonder the way snow used to. The only good thing about it was that we wouldn't have to worry about running into any Zed Heads for a while; they would all be frozen solid. But the living dead weren't the only enemies out there. The cold could kill us as easily as any zombie and then there were other human beings. Many of them had become selfish in their desire to protect their stuff, others were so paranoid that they attacked anything that moved.

We decided the safest thing to do was get out of the city.

 **Did you have a destination in mind?**

No, we just wanted to get out of there. We didn't know what would be waiting for us in the countryside, but we figured it couldn't be much worse than the city. Bradford was no longer Bradford, if you know what I mean. I could hardly recognise my own street. All the houses were empty, several of them showing signs of forced entry, though I tried not to wonder if the intruders were looters or zombies. And we lived in the suburbs - I didn't want to think about what things might be like in the city centre.

First, though, there was the matter of food. As I said before, we'd used up all the supplies Mum and Dad had stockpiled before the crisis. I checked a few of the empty houses, but I couldn't find anything except the rotting remains of the contents of people's fridges. We decided we might have better luck at the corner shop; even if there was nothing left on the shelves, there might still be something in the stockroom that looters had overlooked. Sure enough, when we got there, all the shelves were empty, but I checked round the back of the shop and found a few tins. It was nowhere near enough for the three of us to live on, so we decided to check out the allotments, where there might still be a few vegetables, though whether they would still be edible was another matter.

In the end, we had no luck on the vegetable front, but we did find a portable heater in someone's greenhouse that still had some fuel in it. We spent the night huddled around it, but we couldn't stay there. We had to get out of the city and take our chances in the countryside.

 **[Katie pauses reflectively.]**

That first winter was especially hard. My gran told me about the bad winter they had in 1962 and early 1963, but I don't think that was anything like as severe as the winters we had during the Zombie War. They say it had something to do with all the pollution in the atmosphere blocking the sunlight, lowering the temperatures. And we spent it wandering the countryside; it's a wonder we didn't join the millions of people who died from the cold.

 **How did you manage for food and shelter?**

Sometimes, people were willing to share whatever they had, even if it wasn't very much. But not often; like I said before, many people were desperate to hang on to their stuff and weren't prepared to give it away, not even to three kids. So we mainly scavenged in empty houses - after we'd made sure they were empty, of course. At night, we'd find shelter somewhere, make a fire out of whatever we could find and huddle around it to keep warm. But that winter was so long and harsh that it became difficult to find anything to burn.

I began to think spring would never come.

 **But, when spring did come, the frozen zombies would thaw. How did you prepare for that?**

I knew we would have to arm ourselves, or at least Nathan and I would. Guns were out of the question. Even if we could find a couple, we wouldn't know how to fire them, let alone aim them at a zombie's head. British kids - prewar British kids, I mean - weren't exposed to guns from an early age like you Americans. No offence. Besides, guns aren't much use if you run out of bullets. This, on the other hand . . .

 **[Katie shows me the scythe she carries with her at all times.]**

I found it in an old barn that first spring. I don't know how long it had been there, but it's taken out quite a few Zed Heads over the years. And I wasn't the only person in Britain fighting zombies with a primitive weapon. All over the country, people were arming themselves with medieval hand weapons - the real thing, not replicas that were only designed to hang on someone's wall - and old farming implements like this scythe. It's not really ideal for fighting at close quarters, but, if you've got room to swing it, it can do some serious damage to any zombie who gets their head in the way. But I didn't expect to have to use it as soon as I did.

 **[Katie's expression becomes troubled.]**

While we were searching that barn, Nathan said he had to, as you would put it, go to the bathroom. I should have remembered that the undead would have thawed out after being frozen during that long winter. If I had, I wouldn't have let him go alone and . . . **[Her voice begins to crack.]** I'm sorry.

 **It's OK.**

I heard the moan a few seconds before I heard Nathan scream. I told Megan to get up into the hayloft - this was an old barn, remember? - and push the ladder away, while I went to try and help Nathan. There was this Zed Head - young man with longish hair, probably mid-twenties, missing an arm. I guessed later that he had been bitten on the arm and someone amputated it in the hope that it might save him. Didn't work, of course. Anyway, he had grabbed Nathan with his remaining hand and Nathan was struggling to break free. I reacted instinctively, swinging my scythe and slicing the zombie's head right off his shoulders; it fell to the ground, the jaws still snapping. As I pulled Nathan away, I noticed what could only be a human bite mark on his hand.

"Did he get you?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Nathan nodded, tears falling down his cheeks. He knew what being bitten by one of the undead meant. And I knew what I had to do; it was the only merciful thing I could do . . . **[She pauses for several seconds.]** I told him I was sorry, then I raised my scythe and stabbed the point into the back of his skull. That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, killing my own brother. I felt physically sick doing it . . . No, scratch that. I _was_ physically sick. But what else could I do? There's nothing that can save someone who's been bitten by a zombie and at least this would prevent Nathan from becoming one himself. That's what I tell myself, but it doesn't make it any easier . . .

 **[Katie breaks down at this point and I have to wait until she gets herself together.]**

 **What did you do next?**

I couldn't just leave them there, Nathan and the Zed Head. Aside from the fact that it wouldn't be decent, the bodies were infected. I put on a pair of thick gloves to avoid contamination and dragged the bodies into the middle of the farmyard. The head I carried - I picked it up by the hair so that it couldn't bite me - and dumped it next to the zombie's body. Then I fetched a can of petrol from one of the outbuildings and poured the contents over the bodies, before setting them on fire. I knew I was probably adding to the pollution in the atmosphere, but I didn't have the time or the tools to bury them.

As I watched the fire, I grieved for my brother. But I also grieved for the Zed Head, even though I didn't know who he was before he got infected. All the same, I couldn't help thinking that he was once a human being, not a monster who existed only to kill and devour every living thing he came across. I felt like I should say something and thought back to my grandad's funeral a few months before the crisis. But all I could remember was the bit where the vicar said: "In the midst of life we are in death." So that's what I said.

After that, I turned my back on the fire and went back to the barn. Megan and I had to move on before the fire attracted more zombies; I might be able to take out one or two with my scythe, but I wouldn't stand a chance against a whole horde of them. I replaced the ladder to the hayloft and told Megan it was safe to come down. Well, as safe as it could possibly be given our circumstances. She was relieved to see me, but she then frowned and asked me where Nathan was.

 **What did you tell her?**

That a zombie had got him and I was too late to save him. Which was the truth, but not the whole truth; I didn't mention that I'd killed him to save him from becoming one of _them_. How could I? She was just a kid, barely six years old.

Anyway, we moved on. I knew I'd have to tell Megan the truth about what happened to Nathan one day, but I never had the chance. She died during the fourth winter. Typhoid - I found the symptoms in a medical dictionary I found in the cottage Megan and I were living in. A lot of the illnesses we thought had been consigned to the history books were making a comeback. As if dealing with the living dead wasn't bad enough, even during the winter "reprieve" we faced the prospect of dying from some disease which modern medicine had all but eradicated from the Western world.

There's one question I've often asked myself over the years. Why did I survive when so many others didn't? I'm still no nearer to figuring out the answer.


End file.
